


A Second Chance

by Kuzons



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Gen, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 06:35:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8738512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuzons/pseuds/Kuzons
Summary: JT Kessler was a loser. He had every opportunity to succeed in life, and, well, he hadn't. His brother would be their family's success story, and that would be that. So, as they both bleed out from a fatal car accident, JT pours his entire being into a prayer for a second chance. Not for him, but for his little brother. The one with a life that was still worth living. The Truth, however, had a slightly different idea.





	

Most people say that you begin to feel unnaturally content and calm when you're dying. Almost like you're drifting to sleep on a warm beach. Well, that's definitely not what I was feeling right then and there, and I was most certainly dying. Maybe, if I had been alone…

But no, I had asked him, no, basically ordered him to come with me. For some bullshit reason, I forced everyone to take sides in the stupid household fight, and no matter how much shit we go through, my brother and I stick together. Still, there was no real reason for him to be in the car with me that night. I just needed somebody to vent to as I moved my stuff to a friend's place. And now, well, now there was a chunk of car sticking out of his throat, and another, different chunk of car where his lower body should be. God, I'm such a goddamn fuck up. Why the hell had I brought him along?

Hell, I could trace the blame even farther back. Did it go all the way back to when I ignored everybody else and decided that I wanted to try engineering? Or did it just extend back to me failing out of said engineering school, wasting my father's money and eventually getting me kicked out of the house?

So, as I, John Travis Kessler, faded into nonexistence, I prayed for the first time in my life. If God was really out there, (I somewhat doubted it), hopefully he wouldn't punish my brother for my mistakes. He was the star football player for the high school team. He was the one getting scholarship offers to incredible schools all across the country. I was just the family fuck up, a mountainous pile of wasted potential and failed exam grades. I didn't work hard enough, but he wouldn't even get the chance to try. It wasn't fair.

I could feel myself fading away, and I saw the divergent paths of two unlived lives flash through my mind. I saw me, working at a car dealership, wearing a fake smile as I packed up my things to go back to an empty house. And I saw my brother, thriving at college, still unsure of what to do in life, just as I was, but with a plethora of options and opportunities. So, as I closed my eyes for the final time, I wished for that life to continue for my brother. Who knows, I did somehow get this far in life, right? Maybe miracles do happen.

* * *

I woke up to an earsplitting headache… Wait, I woke up? I survived? I wrenched open my eyes, fighting what felt like a pair of 10 ton weights, and glanced at my body. I was shirtless, in a bed of some kind, and there certainly wasn't a steering column sticking out of my chest. Something else was off, though. Dammit, if only this stupid headache would ease up.

My stomach angrily rumbled, and I sat up. Headache or not, I needed some food. I looked around the room for ideas, but unfortunately, the little bedside table only had a newspaper. No food. Damn. I looked around a little more, and I realized something. This wasn't some mystery bedroom. It was a hospital bed. I guess it wasn't a dream. The crash had really happened.

But why was I alive? I saw my body get crushed. Front row seats. Not a pleasant sight. I looked down at my body again. Sure enough, there was a massive, somewhat fresh scar spanning my chest, starting at my left arm pit and jaggedly extending to somewhere near the bottom of the right side of my ribcage. But that wasn't the only strange thing.

Don't get me wrong, I've never really been fat. I might have wasted a ton of athletic potential by not giving a shit about anything, but I was still in reasonable shape. Somewhere in between chunky and average would probably be an apt description. But now, well, the beer belly was gone. I sure as hell didn't have a six pack or anything, but the excess fat, the sign of my laziness and failure, was mostly gone.

I'm pretty sure a stint at the hospital didn't get rid of a beer gut. What the hell was going on?

Jesus Christ this headache needed to chill out. How am I supposed to figure this crap out if I can't string together a thought? And, to seemingly add to my inability to focus, some faint voices came into existence outside the door.

"Fullmetal, the kid nearly died. Alchemy can't fix something like this."

Alchemy.

Suddenly, my brain was ravaged by a wall of memories. I was in, well, I was nowhere. Total emptiness. Then, these images, almost like movies, played out in front of me, telling stories of a world that wasn't quite familiar. A world, just like Earth, but with alchemy.

Alchemy, the science of converting matter into different matter. The law of equivalent exchange. I had only known of it for a moment, but somehow, I understood it.

Then, a person. But not quite. He, or it, was almost like a silhouette, a white shadow of my existence. There was a conversation.

A second chance. That was what the silhouette said. A new world, a new life. My brother would survive. There were warning, but I ignored them. He would live.

I asked whether I would ever see him again.

"He's right behind you. You have a few moments. But after that, well, that's up to you."

I turned around, and my brother was there.

He was in tears, begging me to somehow stay with him. He needed me, he said. Suddenly, a new life didn't seem so easy. There were so many things that I needed to say, and tears were just getting in the way. I told him to help our dad. The temper, the fights, they weren't good for him. If I wasn't such a confrontational ass to him, maybe I could have helped. I was supposedly the calm one after all. But it was all on him now. I told him to take care of the rest of the family. To tell Mom and Dad to not blame themselves. It was my fault. I'm the one who fucked up. They were just reacting to their pitiful excuse of an eldest son.

"JT, you shut the hell up. That… thing said that you're about to go through hell. Well, you're going to do it, then, when you get back to our world, I'm gonna punch you in the face because that was so freaking stupid!"

Then, we were fading away.

"Stephen, if you tell people about this, they're gonna say you're crazy. Just, keep going. I'm dead until proven otherwise." I winked with that.

"Heh, you're probably right." He put a serious look on his face after that. Which, on his acne-filled teenage face, well, it looked absurd. "Just remember, JT, you're a clever bastard. Use it. Whatever gets thrown at you, beat it before it even has a chance."

"Will do, brother. I'll see you later."

My brother grinned as the last of him faded away. "Smell ya later!"

And that was it. My brain rushed back into the present, where there were two worried looking people waving their hands in front of my face.

"Doctor, what's happening? Why is he so pale?!"

"He's not responding!"

I shook my head. "I'm fine, I swear! Just, err, daydreaming."

The tall man, dressed in a navy blue uniform that had to be from some kind of military, raised his eyebrow. "Must have been a helluva day dream."

I nervously laughed and nodded. "Sorry if this is weird, but where am I? What happened?" From that weird memory thing, I figured that high speed car accidents weren't a common occurrence. How had I ended up in a hospital?

"Uh, I think it'd be easier if my little friend here explained."

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING TINY YOU OVERCOOKED SLIMEBAG?!"

Either this was a common occurrence, or that guy was one smooth dude, because he was out of there before the 'little guy' could even finish his rant. Hell, even the doctors were gone.

The guy sighed then awkwardly walked over to my bed and took a look at a clipboard hanging from the foot of the bedframe.

"Of course Colonel Bastard is calling me little! You're practically a giant and you're only 16! My age and they have you at 6'2". Hmph."

Wait, did he say I was 16? Chalk another one up on the board-of-shit-to-worry-about-later.

The guy, who was apparently a kid, just like I was, again? Ugh, JT, remember the board. Worry about it later. Anyway, the kid continued looking at the clipboard.

"Ah, there it is! Stupid Doctor's dumb handwriting is impossible to read. So your name is John Kessler? Sounds southern. I'm Edward Elric." He sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. "And I guess I'm kinda the reason you're in here. Sorry about that."

"Nice to meet you, Ed." I held out my hand for a handshake. "And just call me JT. I swear, I'm not gonna care either way, but what exactly happened?"

He weakly shook my hand and went on to explain just what had occurred. Apparently, he was fighting some alchemist and accidentally destroyed an abandoned building during the fight. He and his brother were looking at the wreckage after the fight and saw my leg sticking out of it and rushed me here.

When he was finished, I couldn't help but chuckle. It was a solid excuse for my injuries, and I didn't even have to make it up myself. Shout out to that weird silhouette guy for at least taking one plate off my table.

"Sounds like it was my fault for being in that building. If it makes you feel better, I don't remember anything, though."

Despite my attempt at taking the blame, Ed still looked guilty. "We tried to find your family, but we couldn't find any recent record of them. If you give the doctors your address they could send a letter or something."

"My family's… gone. Hell, I don't think I even have a home anymore." Fuck. Way to retain information there, JT. Now you're probably gonna have to bullshit a bunch of answers and you're gonna get called out on some uneducated lie.

Ed grimly nodded. "We kinda guessed that from the little we could find out about you. Me and my brother are pretty much in the same boat. Anyway, the Colonel probably wants to debrief you. You got hurt in a military thingy so he has to ask you stuff or something. I'm sure he'll enjoy the paperwork though." He weirdly grinned as he said that last part. "I really am sorry about everything though. I know I suck at the whole apology thing but if you ever need anything, just ask." With that, he left the room, and was soon replaced by the man, who was presumably 'Colonel Bastard'.

"You look tired, so I'll let you get some rest. I'll debrief you tomorrow."

As soon as he finished saying that, a yell echoed through the hallway outside.

"Mustang! The taxi is here! You wanna be late for your creepy little date?"

Colonel mumbled something about full metal and dicks and left the room sheepishly. Huh. Certainly sounds like a weird date.

Might have been a lame excuse, but I really was tired. I thought back to the weird 'memory reel' I had seen before I talked to my brother. This world, besides the whole alchemy thing, seemed to be very similar to my world in terms of physics and science-y stuff. From what I saw, it looked like technology was at a level similar to what it would've been in the early 1900s. Huh. Maybe I could use that somehow. I didn't know enough about computers to invent them, but I did go to engineering school for a little while. I could paint myself as some kind of genius and make a living reinventing stuff.

No, that didn't feel right. I was given another chance for a reason, and I'm pretty sure that reason wasn't for me to invent the folding chair. Besides, dominating prehistoric basketball would be more fun as a fall back plan. I wonder how these people would like the shammgod?

Seriously though, I had to figure something out. I was homeless and completely on my own. My only connections were to the…

Goddamn it. I didn't want to be a soldier. I'll figure out my future later. Right then and there, I needed to focus on rest and rehab. Heh, lazy JT was already poking through. Plan for the future? Nah, sleepy time. Oh well.

Drowsiness began to cloud my brain, slowing my thoughts to a halt, and the most absurd day in my lifetime (lifetimes?) came to close.

* * *

Getting used to a new body is an… interesting experience. Yes, technically, it wasn't a completely new body; it was a slightly different version of my awkward 16 year old body, but it was still weird.

In the instant before the crash, I was a 21 year old guy, an aching, creaky mess of chronic injuries who weighed in at about 210 lbs. Now, according to the doctors, I was still 6'2, but I was down to 195 lbs. The weight loss was cool in its own right, but it was something else that had me truly excited. It was like my body had hit a reset switch. Anything that could be blamed on decisions from my old life was gone. As shown with the weight loss, the beer belly was gone, but so were the glass ankles, the various scars (with the exception of a very fresh one on my chest), and the messed up left hand. And oh god, it was amazing. You really don't realize how annoying little panging issues like those are until they're gone.

Colonel Mustang and come and gone with his "debrief" (he asked a solid three questions) and the doctors decided that it was time to get me moving. At first, they just had me walk around the room, completing some tasks that required fine motor skills. I guess they were worried about the brain injury that they thought I had. I played along, somewhat begrudgingly, mostly because the presumed "memory loss" had to come from somewhere, and it might as well be a concussion.

We took a break for lunch, and I snuck off to the bathroom while the nurses were getting my food. Despite giving me flashbacks to the removal of the catheter (oh god), it was nice to finally get a look at myself in the mirror. The shaggy brown hair was still there. The blue eyes and somewhat large nose were still there, still on that good ole big head. My proud little Harry Potter-esque scar on my forehead was gone, but otherwise, it was just good to see that I was still, well, me.

After a very goopy hospital lunch, a new face came into the room and dismissed the loitering nurses. He was clearly another military-type, dressed in the same blue uniform that Mustang had worn, and his combed black hair and glasses seemed to indicate that I was actually dealing with a serious officer here. It was bound to happen at some point, right? Not every soldier could be as aloof and distracted as Colonel Mustang.

Oh how wrong I was.

"Son, is it true that you don't have anywhere to go after you get out of the hospital?"

I nodded, hoping that this guy wasn't going to consign me to the military or something.

"Well then, you're going to have to come with me."

I gulped and asked him, "Um, to where, exactly?"

The serious expression instantly dropped from his face, replaced by a grin of almost creepy proportions. "To my home, of course! My wonderful wife would love to take of someone who needs it. She's incredible, don't you agree?" He seemingly pulled a picture out of thin air and practically shoved it into my face. It was clearly a family photo, with Hughes smiling like a 12 year old girl while standing next to what were presumably his wife daughter.

Then, I made the biggest mistake of my life. Err, lives. Whatever.

"Is the little girl there your daughter? She looks adorable."

The grin on his face somehow got even bigger, and he started spewing such and absurd quantity of gushing words that I couldn't even begin to follow it.

"Yes, that's my precious Elicia! Isn't she wonderfully cute? Oh, she just looks so much like my…"

Yup. Failing out of college? Nothing compared to this. Was this the hell that my brother warned me about? If so, he's an asshole. He shoulda done a better job.

After enduring the endless barrage of what must've been my unholy punishment for messing up my previous life so much, he was interrupted by the ringing of the clock tower from the church down the street.

"Wow, it's really two o'clock already? Where does the time go? And I haven't even started the… Well, better late than never. I don't think we've been formally introduced. I'm Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes. Nice to meet you, John."

I weakly shook his hand, still shell shocked from the ineffable mental torture I had just experienced. "JT's fine. Good to meet you, too, sir." For some reason, I've never liked being called by my real name, and it felt even more wrong now.

"So, Johnny." God fucking dammit. "I have a mental aptitude test for you to take. The doctors told me that you're literate, so it shouldn't be an issue, but if you need help reading any of the questions, just tell me." He handed me a packet.

"Please, uh, just call me JT. And why do I need to take this test thing?" It was a little suspect, and my initial concerns about this guy were beginning to surface again. Was this some kind of military recruitment test?

"Your injury was solely at the fault of the Amestris military, according to Colonel Mustang's report. We'll be giving you fair compensation for your trouble, and a mental aptitude test is the only objective way that we can determine what 'fair compensation' would be for a brain injury. It'll just test to see if you have any issues, and if so, just how bad they are."

Right, these guys still thought that I had suffered some kind of super amnesia-causing mega-concussion. Also, compensation. Money. A starting point. This injury was the gift that just kept on giving. "I guess that makes sense."

He then handed me a flashy-looking pen and a clipboard to lean on. I opened up the packed and started reading the instructions on the first page.

"Oh, I forgot to mention a couple of things." I looked up at Hughes, who was referencing a checklist of some kind. "It's a timed test, so you have two hours to finish. And supposedly there are going to be some questions that may be difficult to answer. They're there to test your problem solving ability, so just do your best on them. Show your work even if you can't come to an answer."

"Gotcha, teacher." I smirked at him as I returned my attention to the packet. It looked like every other standardized test I'd seen, and the smirk on my face got even bigger. See, I've always been absurdly good at standardized test, to the point where it's almost enjoyable for me to take them. It feels like a game of wits between the test maker and I, where I have to find the various traps and pitfalls, sometimes layered multiple times, and work my way through them. My weird skill with tests had actually gotten me into trouble in the past. I'd always do really well on the qualifying test for an advanced class, then I'd bomb the actual test. Hell, it even happened in college. I did really well on the SAT, and I got cocky and thought that I could become an engineer. Well, that sure as hell didn't work out.

This fact, along with the slimy urge to tank the test to receive more compensation, weighed heavily on my consciousness. In all honesty, it was probably the smarter path, to tank the test and lower and external expectations. The extra cash was really just icing on the cake.

But this was supposed to be a new life, a second chance. Over-thinking situations like this one had rarely ended well in the past, and I was supposed to be turning over a new leaf in terms of honesty and effort. Hughes expected me to do my best on this test, and I'm sure as hell not going to fail the first set of expectations that I encountered on this go around. Fuck the consequences. Time to grind this thing out.

The first section reminded of the reading portion of the SAT. I was told to read few text passages and answer questions about them. At first, the questions directly referenced the text, but later questions seemed to force the reader (yours truly) to read between the lines and analyze things, like author intent and insinuations. Either way, it was easy. I've always been obsessed with reading, and tests like this were almost too easy.

The next section queried me on my scientific knowledge, mostly on theoretical stuff. I struggled with the biology related stuff, and breezed through the physics. Again, notch a win for the engineering school. What surprised me was just how easy the chemistry stuff was. Each scientific subject had a couple meatballs, some average questions, and a few absurd "reach" questions, probably the ones that Hughes mentioned in his little instructional schpiel, that were supposed to be imposingly difficult.

I expected the physics problems to come easily to me, and I was right. I completed even the reach questions with ease, but then again, what average high school kid would know how to analyze a multi-force member in a frame (wooooo statics)? I also expected a struggle with the biology stuff, and I was right. I'm the kind of person who needs to understand everything about a topic to be able to solve any problems, and I'm far too lazy (and probably not smart enough) to understand even close to enough of the biology I would need to be competent. Still, I probably handled my own on the normal questions. Again, it was the chemistry problems that surprised me.

I've always been hilariously bad at chemistry, mostly for the same reasons as biology. But for some reason, a lot of stuff seemed to click together more than it ever used to. Instead of relating it to weird chemicals in my head, I segmented it all, just like I do with physics. I somewhat ignored the practical stuff and focused completely on the numbers, and it worked. Admittedly, I had the ultimate chemical cheat sheet right there (the periodic table) but it was still a weird feeling.

Oh well, shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, I still had more test to tackle. The math section was next, and I happily cruised through it. My dad never taught me much in terms of life lessons, but he did drill some serious mental math abilities into my large (and probably mostly hollow) skull. He always said that mental math allowed me to do less work overall, so it actually allowed me to be lazier. That backhanded insult stuck with me, and it actually helped a lot of things click together.

So, long story short, I'm really good at simple math. Anything up to differential equations really. Fun times. Moving on.

After that, there was a short writing section, probably there just to test grammar skills, and one of those weird ink blotch tests where you look at a random ink blotch and say the first thing that pops into your head. Honestly, I probably didn't do so hot on those parts. I generally suck at prompt writing, and I'm about as visually creative as a fried wonton. Not like I needed an A on this test or anything, so it wasn't too big a deal. Hopefully.

After I finished, I went back and made sure that I had answered every question, and I handed the packet to the waiting Hughes. He smiled, briefly (thank god) thanked me for my cooperation, and said goodbye as he left the room. He was shortly replaced by the normal horde of nurses, who gave me a change of clothes and told me to get changed for the start of physical therapy. No rest for the weary, I guess.

A few hours later, I somehow dragged my exhausted body from the locker room showers back up to my hospital room. Apparently, in circa 1914 Amestris, "physical therapy" meant "continuously run around an outdoor track in 100o humid weather for two hours". I, for one, was not a fan. Still, I was slightly proud of myself for not giving up. It was sure as hell more than I'd ever run at once in my life, and it was probably the most physically exhausted I'd ever been outside of a few critical basketball games. Unfortunately, even my brain was worn out, apparently too tired to congratulate itself much, and I fell asleep almost immediately after I plopped myself onto my cot. Hell, I think the sun was still hanging out over the horizon when I passed out.

* * *

"Hughes, please tell me that you didn't just call me to brag about your family again." Colonel Roy Mustang couldn't help but suspect that this was the case. He had long since acquired something of an immunity to Hughes' endless gleeful rants, but they were still incredibly annoying.

"Roy, it hurts me to see that you think that lowly of my professionalism." Mustang rolled his eyes at his longtime friend's sarcasm. "I called because something interesting came up in that case with the kid that Edward accidentally hurt. John Kessler, I think."

"Yeah, JT. I talked to him a couple of times. Is he alright?"

Hughes chuckled. "Yes, Johnny's fine. Legal somehow shucked his compensation case off to me, so I have him the standard mental aptitude test. It's a pretty difficult test that we give to assess…

"I know what it is, Hughes. I actually had to take it once. It was tough, almost annoyingly so."

"Tsk tsk Roy, you know that it's rude to interrupt. And apparently, John didn't think so, because he aced thing."

That was… somewhat surprising, actually. Mustang had spent more than his fair share of time with young geniuses, and that kid hadn't really acted like one.

"Hm. Good for him. Why is that important to me though?"

"Mustang, the kid has absolutely nothing to his name. No possessions, no home, no family. Once the military sees this test… Nobody would even miss him. They'll pull him in, like it or not."

Hughes paused for a moment, then continued. "Best case scenario, he ends up like us, broken far before our time, stuck trying to find salvation in others. Worst case, well, he's a 16 year old joining the military. You know the statistics."

Mustang sighed, somewhat irritated at Hughes plea for charity. The guy could be almost as bad as Alphonse was with stray pets. Still, Roy had been in the same boat as this JT kid, and he wouldn't wish his hellish life on anyone…

Dammit, of course. Hughes is really a conniving bastard sometimes. He tried to guilt trip Colonel Roy Mustang. And it was… actually working! Hughes knew that Mustang would relate to this kid, and he was playing him like a chess piece.

"I should be proud, Hughes. You're playing my own game well."

Hughes laughed again. "You tend to wear off on people, Roy. Besides, I know that we've traded paint. You're feeling for this kid, too."

"So what do you suggest we do? We can't forge his test results, it's a little late for that. Plus, I might feel bad for the kid, but I'm not going risk everything I've worked for…

"I know, Mustang. The military is eventually going to get a hold of these results. I just plan on… slowing the process a bit. He'll…

"You want me to bring him onto my team, don't you? Do you realize how terrible that idea is?"

"Before you go on your rant, hear me out. I can't bring him into my department. I don't have enough pull under Central's watchful eye. But you, you're out in Eastern Command. You can pull this off. Besides, I think the kid could be useful for you in a different way."

"How so?"

"Well, he got perfect scores on his physics and chemistry, and he…"

"No. Maes, you know that I swore to take that to the grave."

"Jeez it's just a suggestion. Turn him into your own personal boy toy if that's what you're into. I just, well, I don't want him to go through what we went through. The next generation should fight our wars. They're going to have their own pile of shit to deal with after you're done with your super duper plans."

"Why are you pushing so hard for this kid? He's been conscious for what, two days? You can't know him that well already."

"Oh, I've only spoken to him once. He seems like a good kid. But I watched his physical therapy session while I was grading his test. They had him run the track. He looked pretty tired after a mile or so, and exhausted after another one, but kid kept going. And going. And going. He was told to run for as long as he could, and the nurses eventually stepped in to force him to stop after TWO HOURS! They thought he was going to collapse! He just got that look in his eye, like he's been through hell and back and he's got something to prove."

Roy opened his mouth to protest, to argue just how baseless this whole thing was, but he couldn't quite find the words. So, he simply hung up the phone. In the back of his head, he knew that Hughes would take that as a yes, and, in an even deeper corner, he was okay with that.

He thought back to when he first met Fullmetal. He gave that kid a shot, right? If this new kid had this much potential, maybe he could become an asset too.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted to my ff.net account a few months ago, but I figured you guys would enjoy it here. Updates coming soon!


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